I woke with a gasp, the sharp pain in my chest reminding me immediately of where I was. The cold floor of my prison cell felt like ice against my battered body. Blinking away the fog of unconsciousness, I forced myself to focus on my surroundings.


    The dim lights of the corridor cast long shadows across the floor. Opposite me, in her own cell, Isabelle sat huddled against the wall. Her once vibrant eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. When she noticed I was awake, a flicker of relief crossed her face.


    "You''re still alive," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I was afraid they''d beaten you to death."


    I tried to smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace. "Takes more than that to kill me."


    Isabelle pressed her palm against the energy barrier separating us. The faint blue glow illuminated the fresh bruises on her arm—evidence of another "extraction" session.


    "This is all my fault," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "If you hadn''te for me—"


    "Don''t," I cut her off, shifting painfully to face her better. "I chose this. I''d make the same choice a thousand times over."


    She shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Look at what they''ve done to you. You''re scheduled for execution, and for what? For trying to save me?" Her voice cracked. "I''m not worth this, Liam."


    "You''re worth everything," I said firmly, even as another wave of pain washed over me. "And this isn''t over yet."


    Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the corridor. We both tensed, our conversation dying instantly. The steps were measured, confident—the walk of someone with power.


    Darian Bancroft appeared outside our cells, his pristine Guild Master uniform a stark contrast to our filthy surroundings. His cold eyes assessed me with clinical detachment.


    "Awake already?" he remarked, sounding almost impressed. "Your resilience is remarkable, Knight. Most men would still be unconscious after what you endured."


    I stared back at him silently, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.


    Bancroft smiled thinly. "The forcible enhancement of your power should have killed you. Instead, it merely incapacitated you temporarily. Fascinating."


    "What do you want?" I growled.


    "To see how my investment is progressing," he replied casually. "The High Council arrives tomorrow. They''re quite eager to witness your execution."


    Isabelle made a small, strangled sound. Bancroft''s attention shifted to her, his smile widening.


    "Don''t worry, Miss Ashworth. You won''t be joining him—at least not immediately. You''re far too valuable for that."


    "Please," Isabelle said, her voice barely audible. "Let him go. I''ll do anything you ask. I''ll cooperate fully with your procedures. Just let Liam live."


    Bancroftughed, the sound echoing harshly against the stone walls. "A touching offer, but entirely unnecessary. You''ll cooperate regardless. As for Knight..." He turned back to me. "His fate was sealed the moment he entered Veridia City."


    I forced myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the screaming protest from my muscles. "You''re making a mistake, Bancroft."


    "Am I?" His eyebrow arched. "You''re powerless. Your allies are either dead or in hiding. Your body is broken." He gestured dismissively. "You''re nothing more than an ordinary man now."


    The irony of his statement almost made meugh. If only he knew.


    "Speaking of ordinary men," Bancroft continued, ncing back toward the corridor entrance, "you have another visitor. Someone quite eager to see you in your current state."


    Heavy footsteps approached, and a familiar figure stepped into view. My jaw clenched involuntarily.


    Dashiell ckthorne.


    He looked exactly as I remembered—expensively dressed, perfectly groomed, and wearing an expression of smug superiority. The only difference was the faint scar across his cheek—a souvenir from ourst encounter.


    "Knight," he sneered, eyes glittering with malice. "How the mighty have fallen."


    Isabelle''s face went pale. "Dashiell."


    He barely spared her a nce. "Hello, ex-fiancée. You''re looking... unwell."


    "What''s he doing here?" I demanded, ring at Bancroft.


    "Young Master ckthorne requested an audience," Bancroft replied smoothly. "Given his family''s considerable influence, I saw no reason to refuse."


    Dashiell stepped closer to my cell, examining me through the barrier with undisguised satisfaction. "I''ve dreamed of this moment. The great Liam Knight, reduced to nothing."


    "Get in line," I said tly. "There are better men than you waiting for their shot."


    His face flushed with anger. "Still arrogant, even now? You destroyed my wedding. Humiliated me in front of everyone who matters in this city."


    "You did that yourself when you tried to force Isabelle to marry you," I replied coolly. <b ss="in-imprint-b">For a better reading experience, visit *).</b>


    Dashiell turned to Bancroft. "You said he was weakened. That the procedure stripped him of his powers."


    "It did," Bancroft confirmed. "Right now, he''s no different from any ordinary person. His meridians are shattered, his cultivation base destroyed. The man who defeated you no longer exists."


    A slow, cruel smile spread across Dashiell''s face. "Open the cell."


    Bancroft hesitated briefly. "That wasn''t part of our arrangement."


    "My father would be disappointed to hear you denied me this small courtesy," Dashiell said pointedly. "After all your talk about cooperation between the Guild and the ckthorne family."


    For a moment, tension hung in the air. Then Bancroft nodded to a guard. "Five minutes. No permanent damage. The Council wants him intact for tomorrow."


    "No!" Isabelle cried, mming her hands against her barrier. "Darian, don''t do this!"


    Bancroft ignored her, gesturing for the guard to proceed. With a touch to the control panel, my cell barrier flickered and disappeared.


    Dashiell stepped inside, cracking his knuckles theatrically. "I''ve been waiting for this."


    I remained seated, watching him calmly. There was something almost pathetic about his need for this moment. Behind him, I could see Bancroft observing with detached curiosity, like a scientist watching an experiment unfold.


    "Nothing to say, Knight?" Dashiell taunted, looming over me. "No clever remarks? No threats?"


    I shrugged slightly. "What''s there to say? You need armed guards and a prison cell to face me. Speaks for itself, doesn''t it?"


    His face contorted with rage. "You think I''m afraid of you? Look at yourself!"


    "Dashiell, please," Isabelle begged from her cell. "He''s already hurt. This proves nothing."


    "Shut up!" he snapped, not taking his eyes off me. "He needs to learn his ce. The ce he should have stayed in from the beginning."


    I met his gaze steadily. "And where''s that?"


    "Beneath my boot," he snarled, drawing back his fist.


    The punch came fast—but not fast enough. Despite my battered state, despite what everyone in that room believed about my condition, my hand shot up and caught his fist mid-air.


    Dashiell froze, his expression shifting from rage to shock in an instant. He stared at my hand wrapped around his fist,pletely halting his attack.


    "What—" he began, eyes widening.


    "Miscalction," I said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.


    In that moment, everything changed. The certainty in Dashiell''s eyes gave way to confusion, then to the first glimmers of fear. He tried to pull his hand back, but I held firm, applying just enough pressure to make him wince.


    "That''s not possible," he whispered, face draining of color. "They said you were powerless."


    I tilted my head slightly. "Maybe you shouldn''t believe everything you''re told."